photo above taken in outer space courtesy of ESA/Rosetta/NAVCAM

head bowed in self reflective prayer

the asteroid fetus dreams

seeing nothing from its hollowed out

eye sockets and waiting in patience

as it plummets along the trajectory

of the spun rosetta stone orbit

that traces the long drawn out

lineage of its chimerical evolution

Wednesday, December 9, 2015


by Vincent Daemon

Chapter Three


  “Late again, huh, Agar?” laughed the only other employee at Corman’s, Walter Paisley. He was an older, weathered man, had worked at the petting zoo since it had originally opened in 1954, hated Corman with a passion, and much preferred the establishment when it was run by founder Harold-Ray Hausen: he knew how to treat the animals, the employees, and the customers. Harold had been a generous and gregarious gentleman who just intuitively knew how to deal with any manner of personality, animal and human alike, with as little conflict or instigation as possible, should any kind of issue arise, which was an utter rarity. Plus, he wasn’t all about the money, or freakishly strange animals, or winning ridiculous holiday carnivals. Harold-Ray Hausen was the polar opposite of Corman. But Paisley genuinely loved the animals and stayed aboard, much like John. And, much like John, who was twenty-five years his junior, desperately needed the money. Over the years, John and Walter formed a unique friendship, and worked very well together. “You look cold, buddy. Car again?”
 “Yeah,” John sighed out with a thick white plume of cigarette smoke. “Fuckin’ spark plug–what else would it be? Dammit.”

“I told you to get ridda that car months ago, kid. It’s a grief-machine, much like that wacko death-stripper girlfriend of yours. She refused to help ya out again, I’m supposin’.”

“Yeah,” John sighed again, another plume of white smoke streaming out with the word. “Not sure if she ever was my girlfriend.”

“I told ya ta get ridda that grief-machine months ago too, remember? And no, she never was.” Walter indeed kept his own series of painful lifelong experiences. Being older and wiser, and a bit of a strange fellow himself, he’d had more than his share of ex-wives and relationship griefs over the years to know well and rightly of what he spoke. “She’s just gonna ruin your life, kid, like Corman did this zoo, an’ you got a good head on them there shoulders. Get that wacky stuff you write published, don’t end up here forever, like I did. A broad like that’ll do that to a man. Shit, ya shoulda called me, I’d'a grabbed ya, no problem.”

“I wasn’t going to bug you at three a.m. man, you’re old, you need that rest,” John chuckled smoke out at Walter.

“OLD! You little sonofabitch, I oughta...” and he came over and patted John on the back like a caring old uncle. “Hey Johnny, you got any reefer on ya? I’m nervous about this polar bear. Corman’s a fucknut, and this is just a plain bad idea. If I didn’t need the goddamn money so bad, and love these damned animals so much, I’d walk the hell out right now.” The look on Walter’s face was one of obvious, long-term stewing discontentment and genuine concern. “An’ ta tell ya tha truth, kid, I’m more concerned about Corman than that poor goddamned bear. He’d do something really stupid, like let a kid feed the bear.”

 John laughed aloud, “you’re killing me man,” as he pulled another joint from his pocket (that was how they both coped with the job and Corman himself–they took any number of “smoke breaks” a day–and John had a few extra on him this particular day) and handed it to Paisley. “Take it to the head, my friend. All yours, med grade. Go take this and kill it up before Corman gets here. I’m gonna suit up.” 

 Ten minutes later, a familiar bark came from the main office door, “It’s Polar Bear Day fellas! And he’s just about here!” There was a sickly joy of demonic holiday greed writhing within every word Corman spoke. And complete recklessness. “I’m thinking we should put him by those stupid, giant-ass blind penguins that keep bumping into each other like fools. It’ll probably rile-up the bear good! The kids are gonna love it!” The man just kept speaking as he approached John and the freshly stoned Paisley, his words disappearing into both their ears not unlike those strange, muted “grown-up” voices from the old Charlie Brown cartoons. To John and Walter, Corman’s words were merely guttural utterances and commands, typically crude and regularly mechanical, albeit much louder than necessary. 

 And, as always, his plan was terrible. “We’re just going to back the truck right up to the cage. That way we have the duck, those stupid penguins, and the polar bear all lined up together. The transfer should be easy, like I said, right from the back of the U-haul to his new cagey home. This bear fucker is getting door to door service, so this shit better pay off. It wasn’t cheap, y’know.” 

 Yeah, they knew. It reflected in their recent pay-cut. “An absolute necessity if we are going to have a profitable holiday, and I want that damned bear!” being Corman’s constant mutterings to them since before even September. 

 “Truck's here, let’s get to it guys, chop-chop!” commanded Corman in his muted-trumpet tone of quasi-authority, obnoxious double-handed clap included.

 John and Walter glared at Corman (he was shuffling papers, as always, counting numbers, didn’t even notice their death glances), then looked to each other in that way close friends do when needing to communicate without words: This is going to be one long, bad fucking day.

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Chapter IV

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Archive of Stories
and Authors


Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
was a little kid. He finds much import-
ance and truth in creative expression.
Phoenix has written over sixty books,
and has published everything from
novels, to poetry and philosophy.
He hopes to inspire people with his
writing and to ask difficult questions
about our world and the universe.
Phoenix lives in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where he spends much of his time
reading books on science, philosophy,
and literature. He spends a good deal
of his free time writing and working
on new books. The Freezine of Fant-
asy and Science Fiction welcomes him
and his unique, intense vision.
Discover Phoenix's books at his author
page on Amazon. Also check out his blog.

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar's

Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
who has lived in New Orleans and Berkeley,
and currently resides in Portland, Oregon
with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
and has a fondness for hats. His greatest
inspirations include H.P. Lovecraft,
Jack tales and coffee. He has been
a Romantic poet for as long as any-
one can remember, specializing in
the composition of spectral balladry,
utilizing to great effect a traditional
poetic form that taps into the haunted
undercurrents of folklore seldom found
in other forms of writing.
His poetry has appeared on the pages
of such publications as SPECTRAL
CTHULHU, and a poem of his,
"The Rime of the Eldritch Mariner,"
won the Rhysling Award for long-form
poetry. His collection of weird balladry
and Jack tales, THE LAY OF OLD HEX,
was published by Hippocampus Press in 2017.

David Agranoff's

David Agranoff's

David Agranoff is the author of the
following books: Ring of Fire (Eraserhead
Press, 2018), Flesh Trade (co-written
w/Edward Morris; published by Create-
Space, 2017), Punk Rock Ghost Story
(Deadite Press, 2016), Amazing Punk
Stories (Eraserhead Press, 2016),
Boot Boys of the Wolf Reich (Eraserhead
Press, 2014), Hunting the Moon Tribe
(Eraserhead Press, 2011), The Vegan
Revolution...with Zombies (Eraserhead
Press, 2010), and Screams from a Dying
World (Afterbirth Books, 2009).
David is a hardcore vegan and tireless
environmentalist. His contributions to
the punk horror scene and the planet in
general have already established him
as a bright new writer and activist to
watch out for. The Freezine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction welcomes him and
his defiant vision open-heartedly.

David is a busy man, usually at work
on several different novels or projects
at once. He is sure to leave his mark on
a world teetering over the edge of
ecological imbalance.

Sanford Meschkow's

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
Main Line girl. Sanford has been pub-
lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking's

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking's

Brian "Flesheater" Stoneking currently
resides in the high desert of Phoenix,
Arizona where he enjoys campy horror
movies within the comfort of an Insane
Asylum. Search for his science fiction
stories at The Intestinal Fortitude in
the Flesheater's World section.
The Memory Sector is his first
appearance in the Freezine of
Fantasy and Science Fiction.

Owen R. Powell's

Little is known of the mysterious
Owen R. Powell (oftentimes referred
to as Orp online). That is because he
usually keeps moving. The story
Noetic Vacations marks his first
appearance in the Freezine.

Edward Morris's

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
PerhihelionSF, the Red Penny Papers'
SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He lives
and works in Portland as a writer,
editor, spoken word MC and bouncer,
and is also a regular guest author at
the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival.

Gene Stewart
(writing as Art Wester)

Gene Stewart's

Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
He currently lives in the Midwest
American Wilderness where he is
researching tales of mystical realism,
writing ficta mystica, and exploring
the dark by casting a little light into
the shadows. Follow this link to his
website where there are many samples
of his writing and much else; come

Daniel José Older's

Daniel José Older's

Daniel José Older's spiritually driven,
urban storytelling takes root at the
crossroads of myth and history.
With sardonic, uplifting and often
hilarious prose, Older draws from
his work as an overnight 911 paramedic,
a teaching artist & an antiracist/antisexist
organizer to weave fast-moving, emotionally
engaging plots that speak whispers and
shouts about power and privilege in
modern day New York City. His work
has appeared in the Freezine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction, The ShadowCast
Audio Anthology, The Tide Pool, and
the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
featured in Sheree Renee Thomas'
Black Pot Mojo Reading Series in Harlem.
When he's not writing, teaching or
riding around in an ambulance,
Daniel can be found performing with
his Brooklyn-based soul quartet
Ghost Star. His blog about the
ridiculous and disturbing world
of EMS can be found here.

Paul Stuart's

Paul Stuart is the author of numerous
biographical blurbs written in the third
person. His previously published fiction
appears in The Vault of Punk Horror and
His non-fiction financial pieces can be found
in a shiny, west-coast magazine that features
pictures of expensive homes, as well as images
of women in casual poses and their accessories.
Consider writing him at,
if you'd like some thing from his garage. In fall
2010, look for Grade 12 Trigonometry and
Pre-Calculus -With Zombies.

Rain Grave's

Rain Graves is an award winning
author of horror, science fiction and
poetry. She is best known for the 2002
Poetry Collection, The Gossamer Eye
(along with Mark McLaughlin and
David Niall Wilson). Her most
recent book, Barfodder: Poetry
Written in Dark Bars and Questionable
Cafes, has been hailed by Publisher's
Weekly as "Bukowski meets Lovecraft..."
in January of 2009. She lives and
writes in San Francisco, performing
spoken word at events around the
country. 877-DRK-POEM -

Icy Sedgwick's

Icy Sedgwick is part writer and part
trainee supervillain. She lives in the UK
but dreams of the Old West. Her current
works include a ghost story about a Cavalier
and a Western tale of retribution. Find her
ebooks, free weekly fiction and other
shenanigans at Icy’s Cabinet of Curiosities.

Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth

BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and

G. Alden Davis's

G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.
He's also the best friend I ever had. He
was taken away from us last year on Jan
25 and I'll never be able to understand why.
Together we were a fantastic duo, the
legendary Grub Bros. Our secret base
exists on a cross-hatched nexus between
the Year of the Dragon and Dark City.
Somewhere along the tectonic fault
lines of our electromagnetic gathering,
shades of us peel off from the coruscating
pillars and are dropped back into the mix.
The phrase "rest in peace" just bugs me.
I'd rather think that Greg Grub's inimitable
spirit somehow continues evolving along
another manifestation of light itself, a
purple shift shall we say into another
phase of our expanding universe. I
ask myself, is it wishful thinking?
Will we really shed our human skin
like a discarded chrysalis and emerge
shimmering on another wavelength
altogether--or even manifest right
here among the rest without their
even beginning to suspect it? Well
people do believe in ghosts, but I
myself have long been suspicious
there can only be one single ghost
and that's all the stars in the universe
shrinking away into a withering heart
glittering and winking at us like
lost diamonds still echoing all their
sad and lonely songs fallen on deaf
eyes and ears blind to their colorful
emanations. My grub brother always
knew better than what the limits
of this old world taught him. We
explored past the outer peripheries
of our comfort zones to awaken
the terror in our minds and keep
us on our toes deep in the forest
in the middle of the night. The owls
led our way and the wilderness
transformed into a sanctuary.
The adventures we shared together
will always remain tattooed on
the pages of my skin. They tell a
story that we began together and
which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
story about how we all were in
this together and how each and
every one of us is also going away
someday and though it will be the far-
thest we can manage to tell our own
tale we may rest assured it will be
continued like one of the old pulp
serials by all our friends which survive
us and manage to continue
the saga whispering in the wind.

Shae Sveniker's

Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
resident of the Salt Pit, UT, currently living
in Simi Valley, CA. His short stories are on
Blogger and his poetry is hosted on Livejournal.

Nigel Strange's

Nigel Strange lives with his wife and
daughter, cats, and tiny dog-like thing
in their home in California where he
occasionally experiments recreationally
with lucidity. PLASTIC CHILDREN
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J.R. Torina's

J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
house ('90-'97), runs Sutekh Productions
(an industrial-ambient music label) and
Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
(a metal-gothic-industrial c.d. shop in
SLC, now closed). He is the dark force
behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
IN THE PORT is his first publication.

K.B. Updike, Jr's

K.B. Updike, Jr. is a young virgin
Virginia writer. KB's life work,
published 100% for free:
(We are not certain if K.B. Updike, Jr.
has lost his Virginian virginity yet.)